Water
by PallasField
Summary: All I could see was blood; before my eyes, rushing through my veins. "So this is how ambition feels. A dance performed by the mind to the beating drums of the heart." Act 1, Scene 5 rewritten from Lady Macbeth's P.O.V.


Ripples

_Scene 5 of Shakespeare's _ "The Tragedy of Macbeth" _rewritten_

There is a grand castle upon Scotland's blasted heaths, home to the late Sinel (and his even later wife), Thane of Glamis, whose commanding countenance gazes sternly over the lands neighbouring Inverness.

Sinel's castle was never given a name: its owners of old had not deemed a name worthy of it. To be sure, the castle's monolithic severity dominated the ragged hills surrounding it: the castle eclipsed all things natural. The human ambition of its builders had succeeded in creating a granite stamp upon the wild heather. And thus, how fitting a trick of nature it was, for Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor, to have been born in such a place, where overreaching ambition triumphed over all other things.

* * *

A missive arriving from the battlefield disturbs the order of the day. Called from my room by Jonet, my lady's maid, I descended swiftly to the gatehouse, where I found the messenger who had come to deliver the missive, who seemed to have scarce had time to compose himself – as courtesy dictates, when one presents oneself before a lady of nobility, such as I – before delivering his message. His clothes wer horribly mangled, covered with various shades of bloodred-ochre from the nave to the chops; the hem of his cloak sodden from tramping across the muddy moors. If his face had not been pale from near-sickness, it would have been flushed with exertion.

For a moment my heart leapt in my chest. Nothing could have happened to Macbeth – even so, his death would not have hindered me – but what part of this man's message was so urgent ­­— there had not yet even been any news of the outcome of the battle, and already this man stood before me!

With some degree of impatience and breathlessness, I demanded, "What is your message?"

"Good day , m'lady. I have the honour of delivering to you a message from your most esteemed husband, Macbeth," _'Macbeth this'_, _'Macbeth that'_ was all I ever heard. His greatness, his royalty, his most esteemed countenance, his bravery, his devotion to his sovereign ruler; my ears were now well deafened by the praise heaped upon my 'other half'. "Thane of Glamis—" whereupon I interrupted him.

"As is well known to me. He is, after all," I said, somewhat strained, "my husband." All that was ever heard of _Lady_ Macbeth was her most humble subservience to her husband and master, the great Macbeth, and how well she managed to keep house for a lady of her status – yet even that compliment was but a veiled insult. There's daggers in mens' smiles.

"The Thane of Glamis, m'lady," the emissary steadfastly continued, "newly also the Thane of Cawdor."

If the appearance of the messenger had not been enough to unseat my senses, this news was a blow. Yet a sweet blow still. "Glamis… and Cawdor, you say?"

"Aye, m'lady," and he curtsied, presenting his precious dispatch, which I gently relieved him of. The letter went straight to my pocket.

"Such superb manners. You must be from the Lowlands," and I smiled.

"If it please you, my lady Macbeth. Stirling."

"Stirling, indeed. How delightful. Domnall, fetch this man food and drink," and I exited the room before Domnall could even acquiesce to my demand. Passing through the courtyard, the leather soles of my shoes dampening upon the wet flagstones, I tiptoed up the silty stairs. Water permeated every atom of this castle, from the galleries to the keep, making its existence seemingly as tenuous as the substance that rained upon it — I had never witnessed so much rain in my life since coming to Sinel's stronghold and it was my ever-lasting fear that, if a sunny day should ever dawn upon Scotland, the matter of the castle would evaporate, leaving behind naught but dust. Upon that same morrow we would most likely find the pigs missing from the stable to have found lodgings in the clouds.

Entering my room, I shuttered the windows and closed the door, my itching fingers reaching into the pocket of my dress to retrieve Macbeth's letter. With fumbling hands, I slit open the letter, and read the letter — first silent, then aloud, as great ecstasy overtook me — pacing whilst leaving tiny wet footprints upon the carpet.

"'_They met me in the day of success: and I have__ learned by the perfectest report, they have more in  them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire  to question them further, they made themselves air,  into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in  the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who__ all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,  before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred  me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that  shalt be!_' — such a message stands beyond the prospect of belief! — _This have I thought good to deliver  thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou__ mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being  ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it   to thy heart, and farewell_.'"

I worried at the letter, folding and unfolding it — yet somehow my heart was on the face of it steadfastly sure that what these weird sisters had told my spouse could but become truth! Indeed—

"Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be what thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness  to catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; art not without ambition, but without  the illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, that wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, and yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis, that which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;  And that which rather thou dost fear to do  than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither,  That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;and chastise with the valour of my tongue  all that impedes thee from the golden round,  which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem to have thee crown'd withal."

To be the Queen consort – I would be known throughout the country; gone from this wretched rain cloud, no doubt the king's castle would be somewhere near Edinburgh. My mind filled with possibilities, each an endless sequence onto its own. Indeed, whatever I should desire in future would be mine within a second!

I was stirred from these revelations by a dampened knock on the door, and reined in any apparent excitement from my countenance, beside the usual delicate mask of cordial femininity. Standing upright, with the letter folded within my hands, I called out an invitation, muffled by the wooden walls.

"Enter."

A second messenger — this one known to me as one of Macbeth's guards — appeared at the entrance, his appearance not much different from our guest currently in the gatehouse.

"What are your tidings?"

The man sniffled horrendously – although I could not blame him for it. "The king comes here tonight," and he was all but out of breath for the importance of his message – which was, indeed, of great consequence. I could see my plans and ambitions become true in the instant, the future laid out before me like a richly embroidered tapestry of golden and silver thread.

"Thou'rt mad to say it," I exclaimed. " Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,  would have inform'd for preparation," I said, deprecatingly – however the man was likely smarter than most of Macbeth's, finding enough wit to reply within respectful boundaries.

"So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:  one of my fellows had the speed of him,  who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more  than would make up his message," the man puffed.

"Give him tending. He brings great news," and the messenger left again, leaving me to my thoughts. Turning to the window, I gazed out, waiting for Macbeth's familiar steed to pass through the gates. I spoke wonderingly, my breath forming moist ringlets on the pane.

"The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements."

_Yet I should have no power myself to do the deed, held back by these tender hands_, I thought, looking at the appendages more suited to tasks of sewing than murder, so pale they would surely by tainted by blood for ever if stained_… But hitherto I have not been withheld by these 'limitations'_.

I turned from the window, planting my feet upon the ground, the bedroom my stage. _I am determined to succeed. _Something I had never known before possessed me; this was my only wish._ Come, you spirits__that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,  and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full  of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;  stop up the access and passage to remorse,  that no compunctious visitings of nature__** s**__hake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between  the effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,  and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,  wherever in your sightless substances you wait on nature's mischief!_

All I could see was blood; before my eyes, rushing through my veins. _So this is how ambition feels_. _A dance performed by the mind to the beating drums of the heart._ Yet I felt seized by insecurity… _Come, thick night,__a__nd pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,  that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, to cry 'Hold, hold!' _I prayed to darker spirits, but as if God was aware of my dark intents and wished to interrupt them, I was startled by the door suddenly opening behind me, the heavy timber bashing into the wall beside it — the instrument to my intent standing at the threshold. Macbeth looked the image of Scotland, his hair wildly ruffled and garments dampened to the fiber, his strong features enhanced by his rough appearance.

"Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!" I ran to him, grasping him by the shoulders and whispered to his ear: " Greater than _both_, by the all-hail hereafter!" then seated him in a chair. _He does not only look the image of Scotland, but his aspect makes him look the very image of a king upon that seat! Even if I cannot bear to be his wife, I would not object to be Queen to his King. _

"Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present, and I feel now  the future in the instant." I urged quickly, after which he at length found an opening in my rhetoric to reply. "My dearest love," _— such a deep and strong voice could command nations! — _"Duncan comes here to-night."

_And thus the plan begins. _"And when goes hence?" I inquired eagerly seating myself on his lap. "Tomorrow, as he purposes," he answered tiredly. "Perhaps you could fetch the servants for some food, dearest; I am tired and—"

"Never shall sun that morrow see," I murmured, trailing kisses across his cheek, "is't not so that it went, in thy mind?"

"You speak utter nonsense, go fetch the servants, my wife," he countered with a returning murmur, to which I drew back from his face and looked him levelly in the eyes, "Your face, my thane," trailing my fingers across his features, "is as a book where men may read strange matters. To beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your eyes, young your tongue: look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't."

"He that's coming must be provided for," I uttered lightly, to which a shade darkened my husband's face, and stood up once more, withdrawing towards the exit. "and you shall put this night's great business into my dispatch; which shall to all our nights and days to come give solely sway and masterdom."

Macbeth stayed still for a few seconds. "We will speak further."

"Only look up clear;" I instructed, "to alter favour ever is to fear: leave all the rest to me, Macbeth."

Turning away and exiting, I did not look back to Macbeth as I left. I will never know that if I had whether I would have seen mirrored there not the face of a just king, but rather that of naked ambition that would morph unseen into a many-headed monster of brutality and malice.


End file.
